


A Right Fine Gentleman

by rubyofkukundu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble, Historical, M/M, Non Consensual, Slavery, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, early 18th century. Joseph has a new master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Right Fine Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 56 minutes for the prompt: Slave.
> 
> Originally posted here: <http://petitte-soeur.livejournal.com/89831.html>

When I arrive, they take me down to the kitchen and dress me in expensive clothes: a clean shirt, breeches, a waistcoat. Even brightly shining shoes with a red bow.  
  
"Oh, he'll be a right fine gentleman when we're done," says one of them, as she pulls stockings over my feet. "Look at him. Such a pretty little face. I fancy he'll be as handsome a one as I ever saw when he's older."  
  
The other one, wrapping lace around my neck, wrinkles her nose. "Hardly," she says, "A negro boy could never be handsome."  
  
Tying my shoes, the first one snorts. "I don't believe one word you say."  
  
But the second just ignores her and sticks her nose in the air.  
  
"Have it your way," says the first. "For my part, I think Sir Thomas has a fine taste, despite his peculiarities." And they both of them titter like girls.  
  
When they're done, and I'm placed in a fine silk coat, that likely cost more money than myself, I'm shown upstairs.  
  
"You'll behave if you know what's good for you," she says, opening the wooden door, before pushing me through and closing it once I'm inside.  
  
There he is.  
  
I don't have much time to look at the room: oak paneling, a fire in one corner, the smell of tobacco in the air, because Sir Thomas is already walking towards me.  
  
He looks the same as he did when he bought me. Tall. Rich. A dark brown periwig on his head, the hair curling over his shoulders.  
  
"Ah, Joseph!" he says, smiling. "Look at you! What a wonderful sight you are!"  
  
I don't know if I'm supposed to reply or not. So I try my best at a bow instead.  
  
"You must be feeling quite lucky, young Joseph, to be dressed in such finery. And you are!" A hand lands on my shoulder, rings clinking together. "From now on, you may wear only the finest clothes and sleep in only the softest beds." Fingers slide over the back of my neck. "I want you to know how happy I am to keep you."  
  
I bow again. "Thank you, sir."  
  
He laughs, happily, and crouches down so that we are the same height. As he leans close, studying me, I find that from this distance, I can see every single hair in his moustache.  
  
The hand on my neck comes up to rest on my cheek.  
  
Sir Thomas doesn't blink for two whole minutes. Then his eyes crinkle in a smile. "So pretty," he says. "How benevolent of Fortune to show you to me." He sighs, thumb tracing my cheekbone, "I would that you were older, but we have time for that I suppose." Then he stops, and stands up.  
  
My eyes follow him upwards, until, looking down on me, he appears tall and unforgiving.  
  
His lips thin. "Joseph, if you tell anyone of this, I will see you hanged. Do you understand?"  
  
I don't understand.  
  
I don't know what he doesn't want me to tell, but I do understand that he's sincere. I can still remember the bodies hanging at Tyburn as we rode into town, and I'm filled with fear at the thought of it.  
  
"Yes, sir," I nod, and suddenly Sir Thomas is smiling at me again.  
  
"Good," he says.  
  
I watch as he removes his coat and his waistcoat, his hands falling to his waist to unbutton his breeches. "Now," he says, "you will be a dutiful boy for me, won't you?"  
  
Nodding, but confused, I watch as he drops his breeches to the floor.  
  
He's hard.  
  
I stay still until he pulls my head toward him.  
  
"Use your mouth," he says, breath heavy.  
  
And so I do. Sir Thomas makes noises and breathes harder. His hands run over my scalp, rings clinking some more.  
  
It's uncomfortable, but not difficult.  
  
"I would that you were older," says Sir Thomas again, with a sigh, "but this will have to do for now."  
  
After a while, when my jaw starts to ache, Sir Thomas gasps, and I have to pull back to choke as he fills my mouth.  
  
I don't know what to do, but the look on his face as he pulls up his breeches reminds me of bodies swinging in the wind. So I swallow.  
  
A hand is placed on my shoulder. "Well done." Sir Thomas smiles when I look up at him. "Now," he says, putting on his waistcoat, "come on. Let's see if we can find some dainties for you to eat."


End file.
